The Dark Woman
by J.G. Adler
Summary: Originally a one shot prompt, now a multi chapter fic. Set loosely in Scandal in Belgravia. Sherlolly alert, and a mysterious lover of Irene's.
1. It Begins

The Woman sat down in front of her dressing table and sighed. She was exhausted and mentally drained from the Holmes family's cunning act. Her mobile buzzed and she opened the message.

_Are you aware you have made quite the impression on my brother? -M. Holmes_

Irene was aware to a certain extent that Sherlock Holmes had been puzzled and attracted to the mystery Ms. Adler was, but was not aware of the depths Sherlock had been willing to go to uncover her innermost workings.

_Well, I hope I entertained him. He never would have dinner with me , though._

She stood up and walked toward her bed, stepping out of her costly clothing, to land, fully nude on her bedspread. Irene dearly wished for Kate to come softly up the stairs with a steaming cup of bitter tea, but those bloody Americans has taken away her solace in times like this.

She slipped underneath her sheets and lay there, still as a corpse. After attempting to drift off, she got out of bed to check her mobile.

1 new message. _I have a mission for you. -M. Holmes. _

_Oh? Am I your new bloodhound?_

_Yes,, considering you tried to bring the British government down today. -M. Holmes._

_What is this mission? _

_Masquerade Ball for Lady Antonia of Lavely's 55th birthday celebration. We have news of an attack being planned. -M. Holmes._

_Have Anthea text me the full report and details. _

Irene sashayed down the stairs, covered only by a silk dressing gown, to her drawing room. She sniffed the decanter filled with whiskey, and poured herself a glass. Pulling her mobile out, she opened Anthea's report and began to read. Smirking to herself, she began to walk the room thinking. If this mission was so important, why wasn't Sherlock attending instead of her?

_Why is Mycroft sending me instead of you? _

_I will unfortunately be required to escort my mother to the ghastly event. -SH_

_Mummy duty? How charming._

Starting, Irene blinked and realized she had fallen asleep in her chair. She picked her empty glass up, and after depositing it in her well-cleaned sink, climbed wearily up her stairs for what seemed to be the hundredth time since the Vatican Cameos incident, as she had began to call it. Sliding the robe smoothly off her porcelain frame, The Woman pulled her spacious closet doors open. _What to wear? _She had a full 36 hours to prepare for the upcoming event, and did not intend to waste a moment of her precious time.

Finally accepting the fact she had nothing to wear to a ball, to her dismay, believing she had clothes and disguises for every occasion, she set off to her dresser's office.

"Why, hello, Ms. Adler!" The most intolerable assistant of Mrs. Devant's yet, Melinda, greeted her. "Hello, Melissa," Irene replied coldly, knowing how it irked Melinda to be addressed as such. "I am in need of a gown." Irene swept into her dresser's personal office, rapping on the doorframe.

"Ms. Adler." Iveyn Devant stood up, whisking a sketch pad off her desk as she walked toward the younger woman. "What do you require?"

"Masquerade ball, something mysterious, like a black swan."

Her designer immediately began to sketch rapidly, choosing a deep shade of violet-black out of her fabric book, containing thousands of scraps available to her clients. Turning the sketch toward Irene, she stood up and began to pour her drink of choice, black expresso, into a dainty china cup.

"I never believed in miracles until I met you, Iveyn." Irene was always surprised by how well Iveyn knew the younger woman's style. "Can you have it done by tomorrow afternoon?"

"Does the sun shine, Ms. Adler?" Iveyn had confidence in her hand-picked team, and knew exactly how to run them.

"I'll have someone text you later," Irene called, walking out of her office. "Melissa."

The Woman checked her mobile. _1 new message. _

_Did you get a dress and shoes? - Anthea_

_Of course. I'm capable of a simple task, am I not? _

_Very well. I will inform Mycroft, and you will be picked up tomorrow evening. _

Irene's purple Louboutins clicked against the sidewalk and up her front steps. Now, for her hair... She entered her foyer, to see none other than Sherlock Holmes in her house.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. Come for dinner?" Irene knew that wasn't his goal, but since he had deemed it appropriate to just enter her house without a proper invitation, she moved to make him uncomfortable.

"I came to explain the case to you." She was suprised.

After all that, Mycroft still didn't believe she could handle a simple case of protecting an old lady? Shame. "It's quite simple, really. I don't know why you had to come." She stepped out of her heels and proceeded to walk upstairs, gesturing for him to follow her. She pulled pins out of her hair as she climbed, and reaching her bedroom, tossed her shoes onto the bed, and the pins were placed on her dressing table.

"Mycroft wanted to be sure, the idiot." Sherlock grimaced. "I told him you were quite able to handle a simple thing like this, but he has his doubts."

"He's right to, you know. I did almost bring the British Government down a day ago."

Irene reached her closet, and opened the double mirrored doors. "Unzip me?"

Sherlock reached distastefully for her zipper, and gave it a tug. "Careful, now, Mr. Holmes. I like this dress, though you apparently don't." She stepped out of it and pulled out her favorite silk robe. "Now, do you require feeding and a bath as well, or can I be left in peace?"

Sherlock turned and began to walk downstairs. "Good afternoon, Ms. Adler."


	2. The Puzzle Ms Adler Is

Irene was rudely awakened by altogether too cheerful beam of sunshine playing across her face. "Go away," she muttered followed by a stream of curses when it didn't. This was the day, and despite her best attempts, couldn't help feeling like a princess at her very first ball.

She hopped out of bed and strode downstairs and into her red-lacquered kitchen. Grabbing a mug, she brewed herself some mint tea, grabbed a fresh scone her housekeeper had dropped off elusively, she sauntered into her library.

The library, which now unfortunately reminded her of Mycroft, was her place of solitude and refuge from the world. It was essentially a bunker full of books. She even had emergency supplies hidden behind the west wall of bookshelves. Plopping down into her favorite soft leather armchair, she trailed a leg over the armrest and sipped reflectively.

She desperately needed a new assistant, all this planning by herself was filling up important mind space. How did normal people manage without help? She would have Mrs. Devant deliver the dress, now she didn't have Kate to pick it up. Irene flinched at the memory of her Kate, so lovely and soft-hearted. Pulling out her mobile, Irene shot a quick text with her address to Iveyn, who would instinctively know to deliver, despite her relutance to hand deliver gowns to clients.

Suddenly, she slapped herself mentally. Stupid her, she had forgotten a mask. _See, this is what happens when you don't have help, Irene, s_he berated. She clicked through her list of contacts, stopping at a Mr. R., who was a professional costumer. She quickly dialed. "Hello?"

"I need a mask for a masquerade ball."

"Ms. Adler? Of course, what color?"

"Black and deep purple satin and lace. No stick, laces."

"What time do you need it by?"

"Today. By two o'clock."

Irene hung up. Taking her empty mug to the kitchen, she paced back and forth, before going to her bedroom. She inspected her dark, glossy locks, and decided on a bath. Starting the water and pouring in her orchid scented bath salts, she stepped in. Thirty minutes and numerous potions and concotions later, she emerged from the bathroom, just in time to hear her phone vibrate.

_The gown is here. _

Iveyn rang the doorbell. Irene buzzed her in, and called for her to come upstairs. Walking up the staircase, Iveyn pulled the large garment bag over her head to keep the end from trailing on the ground. She entered Irene's dressing room, and hung the garment bag on the hook by the door. "Irene?"

"In here." Mrs. Devant heard the sounds of a blowdryer and walked back into the bathroom. "Where is it?" Irene couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. The two women walked toward the signature emerald bag and Iveyn pulled the zipper carefully down. "Iveyn, you are incredible. That is a fashion masterpiece."

"I'm glad you like it, Ms. Adler."

Irene handed her an envelope, and Mrs. Devant took her leave. The Woman stepped closer to the dress, and tentively put a hand out to trace the embroidery. She realized for the first time in her life, she was allowing the little girl who loved dainty, pretty things to reappear. She sat down at her table and looked at her mobile. _Only 1:30 p.m. I have plenty of time. _

As she finished twisting locks of her hair up, she reviewed her battle plan once more. Placing the final pin in, she looked at her reflection. Irene reached for the drawer containing her warpaint, as she liked to call it. She made a decision not to hide behind blood painted lips, and began to delicately trace her eyes with a smoky purple eyeliner pencil. After finishing the rest of her makeup, she reached for a light shimmery gloss Kate had bought months ago, and Irene had never worn, always choosing bold and sexy over dainty and feminine.

Wishing for the hundredth time she still had Kate, Irene carefully pulled the dress out of its protective shell and laid it on the bed. Just then, the doorbell rang. _Why in god's name is Sherlock here, two hours early? _Irene raced downstairs to pull Mr. bloody-I-own-the-world Holmes in by his lapels. "Why are you here?"

"Anthea texted. She thought you might need help." Sherlock said dismissively.

"Well, you're in luck. I need an extra pair of hands with my dress." Irene mentally cursed Anthea for knowing her so well. You give the woman one favor, and she knows everything.

Sherlock blanched, not expecting the all capable Woman to need help, and so voluntarily ask for it. The doorbell gave a shrill ring, and Irene made a mental note to shoot the damn thing when she was done. Telling Sherlock to bring the package in, she snatched it, and walked back upstairs with Sherlock trailing like a lost puppy behind her.

Opening the box as she went, she pulled out an intricately detailed black mask, thankfully without feathers, covered by a rich purple lace, and studded with black gems.

They reached her dressing room, and Sherlock openly gaped at the dress on Irene's bed.

"Who made that?" He whispered.

Irene shrugged. "Why? Are you going to have them make a dress for Molly? Oh, don't look at me like that, I've seen your so called subtle looks."

Ignoring his 'How in the-' look, she let her silk robe slid from her shoulders and dressed only in her black lace undergarments, pulled Sherlock from where he was staring at the masterpiece on her bed, and told him sharply to hold the gown up as she stepped into it. Pulling it up gently, she zipped it until she couldn't anymore and had him do the rest. Taking her shoes from beside the mirror on her closet door, she accepted Sherlock's offered hand and stepped up into her favorite Loboutins.

Opening her closet, she reached for the black clutch on the shelf, and passing her dressing table, grasped the mask gently. "Come along dear, my work is done," she mocked Sherlock. He gave her a murderous look, and swept past her downstairs.

"I have to go back to Baker Street. There is a tuxedo waiting for me there," he said, shuddering.

"Relax. Is Molly going?" She din't think a look could be dirtier than the one he shot her way.

"Yes, and if you break my pathologist, I will hurt you."

"Men are so dramatic. I just remembered why I'm gay." Irene laughed at the look at his face when he realized he called Molly 'his pathologist'.

Sherlock stormed out of the door. Irene watched him go, and swept into the library after checking her mobile to see she still had almost an hour before Mycroft's car came to pick her up. She poured herself a glass of red wine to calm her nerves-s_ince when do I have nerves?_-and began to pace the library, pausing in front the second bookcase on the east wall, and stroking the spine of her father's well-worn copy of The Great Gatsby. She pulled it from the shelf and proceeded to lose herself in the book, only stopping when her ears picked out the sound of a car motor coming down the street.

_The game, Irene Cainwen Adler, is on._


	3. The Holmes Resemblance

**Hello, lovely readers! Joanna, here. Thank you so much for the views, and if I can make a request, please review? It would make my day if I got 3 reviews! Also, story announcement, I feel I should clarify, this is based very loosely on SIB, and happens after the events in Mycroft's estate, where Sherlock deciphers Irene. I think there will be two more chapters until I finish, but if you guys like it, I might keep going. It's up to you! **

**Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own BBC Sherlock, or any of the actors. If I did, you would never see them. ;) **

Irene glided out of her house, mask on and tied securely, and holding her clutch. Mycroft stepped out of the limousine to offer her a hand. She carefully slid in, arranging her dress as she went, and noticing the absence of Sherlock. Molly, however, was sitting opposite her, glancing curiously at Irene.

"Well, Ms. Adler, you seem to have succeeded in your search for a dress."

"Never lose hope in me, Mycroft Holmes," Irene smirked. "I've done the impossible, like coming back from the dead."

"Oh my god! It's you," Molly gasped.

"Yes, darling Molly, I am Irene Adler, the woman who was on your slab a few months ago." Irene was surprised that Sherlock hadn't informed his little mouse of her mission tonight. Molly had gotten over her previous shock, and was now nervously tugging on her dress. The normally sloppily dressed pathologist had miraculously transformed into a butterfly. Her mint green chiffon dress was simple, but with little details like the twisted straps.

Irene noted how different it was from her own deep purple gown with uneven lace draping. Her mobile buzzed inside her clutch, and she pulled it out. 3 new messages.

_Remember what I said. -SH. _

_If you hurt Molly, you'll have Sherlock to answer to, you know. -Anthea_

_Compliment Molly. She's nervous. -M. Holmes._

Irene sighed. "Molly, you look lovely. Who helped pick out your gown?" Molly blushed and answered, "Mary Morstan, a friend of mine." Irene picked her mobile up from her lap, and texted the Holmes brothers back.

_I'm not a dimwit, Sherlock. _

_Mycroft, I am already doing this for you, don't think I'm your personal slave from now on. You have Anthea for that. _

Mycroft raised an eyebrow across the car at her, and she smiled sickly sweet at him.

The limousine slowed to a stop. The driver opened their doors and helped Molly out, while Mycroft once again helped Irene out. The sun was beginning to set and the orange glow illuminated the magnificent estate and the strains of music coming from the entrance only enhanced the enchanting picture.

Another car pulled up behind them, and Sherlock and a woman who Irene presumed to be his mother stepped out. Lady Elizabeth Vernet Holmes was an imposing figure with pure silver hair and distinct features. Mycroft introduced Irene and Molly to his mother, who cast a sharp eye over the two woman standing in front of her.

"Sherlock, take your date inside," Lady Holmes commanded. Molly blushed at being referred to as Sherlock's date as the couple took off across the driveway. "Mycroft, why did you bring Irene, if not as your date?"

"Mummy!" Mycroft hissed, embarrassed. "Lady Holmes," Irene began diplomatically, "I'm here to insure Lady Lavely's safety." She proceeded to open her clutch to discreetly show the small pistol smuggled in it. "Ah, I see," Mummy Holmes said, raising an approving eyebrow. Mycroft offered his arm to Irene, and she took it, smirking at the disgruntled look on his face. Lady Elizabeth took his other arm, and he escorted the two women into the foyer of the giant house, graced with a expansive crystal chandelier and marble stairs.


	4. A Snog in The Library

**Sorry for the short chapter last time, I'm sick and desperately trying to recover in time for a trip I'm going on. So if I get 2 reviews, I'll keep the story going after the ball and events therein. Hope you guys enjoy and thank you all so much for the follows, favs and views! Almost 700 in 3 days! It makes my day when I login and see more people enjoy my writing. Love, Joanna.**

As the small group entered the massive home of Lady Antonia Lavely, they were greeted by butler offering to take the ladies wraps and the men's coats. Irene decided to keep the black lace bolero around her shoulders on for the time being, while everyone else handed their wraps over. A waiter offered champagne and Lady Holmes and Molly accepted, the rest declined, having been briefed by Mycroft to not touch a drop.

"Irene, Sherlock. Follow me," Mycroft whispered, leaving Molly with his mother. The elder Holmes led them over to a slender, older woman dressed in fuschia. "Lady Antonia." Sherlock began to steer the slightly inebriated lady away the group she stood in. "This is Irene, she will be by your side during the night, Mycroft has two undercover agents mingling under his orders, and I will be on the lookout," Sherlock quickly muttered. Lady Antonia nodded, apparently sobered by the remainder of the threat she was under.

"Irene, dear, come with me," the older woman pulled Irene by the elbow toward a large group of what appeared to be senior officers and their wives. Sherlock had already disappeared into the crowd, so Mycroft headed back to his mother and Molly. He found Lady Elizabeth standing by a large window Elizabeth staring out at the grounds.

"Mummy, where is Molly?" Mycroft began to worry.

"Oh, her?" Lady Holmes started slightly. "Sherlock dragged her off with him, apparently to dance. He always did love to dance," she remembered fondly. Little did Mummy Holmes know that Sherlock and Molly weren't dancing innocently.

"Come along, Molly," Sherlock said, dragging Molly down a deserted corridor. "Sherlock?" Molly whispered, not understanding his actions. "Here we go," he spoke, opening a door leading to what appeared to be a library from the glance she got at the dark room before Sherlock pushed her against the door, and slammed his mouth against hers, ferociously. "Wha-," Molly managed to get out before her brain stopped thinking and her body took over, kissing Sherlock back with all her might. Their tongues fought for control, before Molly pulled back gently.

"Sherlock," she began, keeping her fingers in his curly dark locks where she had threaded them during their passionate kiss. "Sherlock? What was that?" He stared at her, pupils diliated, and she felt like prey being hunted by a hungry wolf.

"Forgive me, but I had to do that. Look at you, innocent and lovely. You have tempted me in ways you couldn't begin to imagine."

"Oh, I think I can, judging by the way you just kissed me," Molly said, winking at him.

"To hell with Lady Lavely's party," Sherlock growled before capturing her mouth again, this time more gently.

Meanwhile, Irene was being dragged around on Lady Antonia's arm being introduced to people she would most likely never see again, and prying champagne flutes out of the elder woman's hands. "Sherlock!" Irene cursed under her breath. _Where was the bloody bastard, and why had he abandoned her to go off with dear Molly?_ She excused herself to 'use the loo' and Lady Lavely giggled and waved her off.

Reaching the foyer after fighting her way through throngs of sophisticated people, Irene pulled out her mobile, hot and bothered. She decided to relinquish her bolero and handed it off to the butler who's nametag said Frederic, and texted Sherlock.

_Where the hell are you? Snogging Molly in a broom closet?_

Sherlock and Molly were rudely interrupted by a moan coming from his pocket. "That wasn't me!" Molly blushed. "I'm aware, text from her." He pulled out his mobile and leaned against the wall beside Molly to read the message. "Apparently, we are missed," Sherlock sighed. Shooting a quick reply back, he kissed Molly chastely and proceeded to straighten his bowtie and cumberbund.

_Library, to be precise. On my way. -SH_

Mycroft, during the events transpiring, had waited on his stern mother hand and foot grudgingly. "Mummy, I need to check with my men." Mycroft stood and walked toward a slender blond fellow standing against the wall.

"Richard, where is my brother?" Mycroft was concerned. "More importantly, where in gods name is Irene?"

"Hello, Mycroft." Irene winked at Richard, and dragged Mycroft away from the agent. "Sherlock let sentiment distract him. More specifically, Molly Hooper."

"Really, Irene?" Sherlock smirked at her while Molly linked arms with him. "How would you know what sentiment is, I mean, you're a dominatrix for a career, if you could call it that."

"Enough!" Mycroft hissed. "Irene, back to Lady Antonia, Sherlock, go dance with Molly and deduce the dance floor, while I go talk to my agents."

Irene swished away to find the older woman, and was met halfway by a gentleman she recognized as General something or another. "Have you seen Antonia?"

Irene felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach, having just seen a flash of fuschia and heard a drunken giggle. Picking her skirts up, she, very unladylike, began to run toward the direction Lady Antonia had been taken. Fumbling her clutch open, she texted Sherlock and Mycroft as fast as she could.

_West wing. Now. Lady Lavely is gone. _

_Oh, screw this! _Irene stopped just enough to pull off her heels, rip her mask off, and clasping them and her clutch in one hand and her skirt in the other, she began to sprint toward the darkened entrance to what she assumed was the corridor to the Lady's rooms. She arrived in time to see young Corporal Smithers, who she had been introduced to earlier, put a gun to the elderly woman's head. Sherlock stepped quietly around the corner behind the Corporal and motioned for her to distract him. She pulled out her handgun faster than you could Jack Robinson.

"Smithers, this is not a good idea," Irene began.

"Why? Do you know who I am?" Smithers smirked at Irene, a cruel glint sparkling in his eye.

"No. Does it matter?" Irene scanned her memory for any recent scandals or happenings in the aristocracy, keeping the gun trained on him.

"You might think so in the end. I'm the illegimate son of Lady Lavely's brother, and her only heir."

Irene glanced at Sherlock who nodded. The foolish bastard was telling the truth. Before Smithers could do anything, Mycroft strolled into the corrider behind Irene.

"Trying to cause a ruckus, Corporal?" Mycroft smiled. His agents ran around the corner, guns trained on Smithers' forehead. 3 guns now pointing at him, the corporal's hands began to tremor. Lady Lavely quivered in silent, drunk terror, pressed against his broad chest. Suddenly, he crumpled. Unbeknowst to Smithers, Sherlock had a history with pressure points, and had hit the back of his neck right where it was required to knock the man out.

"Sorry, Mycroft. He was boring me." Sherlock didn't sound apologetic in the least.


	5. The Lady and The Woman

**Hi guys! Thank you for being very patient, I had a bad case of writer's block, and procrastinated, and things kinda happened. I apologize if Irene is out of character, she is damn hard to write! It means so much that you guys like what was supposed to be a one shot and want me to keep writing, and OMG I have 11 followers, and over 1,500 views! Love from, Joanna**.

Irene sighed. It was so like Sherlock to get bored in the middle, though to be honest, the mission was not what she had expected. Mycroft interrupted her train of thought.

"Is everyone alright?" Sherlock nodded dismissively, and Irene put away her gun, and nodded. She reached Lady Lavely, now in a dead faint from the alcohol mostly likely in her bloodstream by now, and terror. Beckoning a curious servant over, Irene passed Antonia over.

Sherlock quickly cuffed Corporal Smithers, who was stirring. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I filched them off Lestrade. He was boring." Irene shook her head, convinced Sherlock was a talented five year old sometimes. Mycroft waved his henchmen over to take custody of Smithers. Sherlock pivoted on his heel quickly, a strange look on his face.

"Where are Molly and Mummy?" Sherlock looked concerned.

"Why little brother! Have you got attached to Dr. Hooper?"

Sherlock shrugged his comment off and strode off to the ballroom. He was met in the middle by Molly, Lady Holmes, and another woman who he didn't recognize, never have concerned himself with social events like these.

"Hello. I'm Aedria Green. And you are Sherlock Holmes. I just met your mother a moment ago." The young woman introduced herself and stepped back slightly for Sherlock's customary scanning deduction. He quickly deduced her, taking no more than a minute. _A large Husky, works for a minor government official, probably someone very boring, recently came into a trust fund or inheritance but spending it wisely. _

"How's work?" She was not surprised and answered confidentially.

"Well, thank you. I quite enjoy it." Aedria knew it would be useless to attempt to lie to the consulting detective, and had prepared for brutal honesty on her part. Sherlock in his turn was surprised by the honesty and no attempts to hide anything. Irene and Mycroft joined the group, and introduced themselves to Aedria.

"Irene," the Woman nodded in recognition, stepping carefully into her heels which she had put down after the chase. Mycroft simply nodded in acknowledgement, before disappearing to dismiss his men.

"Mycroft." Irene followed him away from the group. "Why did you bring me? You had that one easily under control."

Mycroft shrugged, looking much like Sherlock. "You look shattered when Sherlock finished the other evening, before you put your walls up." He looked at her evenly. "You also lost Kate. I figured you might be lonely and need something to distract yourself."

"...Thank you." Irene whispered, pausing before she spoke. "I never thought a Holmes could show emotion."

"Well, I suppose both of us surprised you tonight, then." Sherlock joined them. "And, yes, Mycroft, I actually intend to pursue Dr. Hooper."

"I didn't say anything, Sherlock."

"You didn't have to, you were thinking." Sherlock grimaced. "Molly, one last dance?" Molly blushed, and took his hand, the couple sweeping onto the dance floor. Mycroft promptly busied himself escorting his mother out to the waiting car, having noticed she looked exhausted.

Irene and Aedria were left alolne in the middle of the ballroom, and Aedria, looking around, led Irene out a open door to a deserted terrace. "Ms. Adler, do you normally associate with one of the most influential families in Britain?" Irene grimaced. "Trust me, this is not normal. I'd probably be bored with them in a week if I did."

Aedria laughed softly, not wanting to disturb the quiet night and softly playing music drifting through open windows and doors. "I like you, not afraid to speak your mind, are you?" Irene smirked. "In my line of work, it marks you."

Aedria looked searchingly at Irene. "Let me guess, not your average 9 to 5 office job?"

"Certainly not. I would go insane. Not enough...excitement, is the word I'd use."

"Do I want to know what you do?" Aedria wasn't sure anymore. Irene shrugged. "If you decide to stick around, you'll eventually figure it out." Just then a waiter blundered out, apparently lost.

"Excuse me, do you know where the parlor is?" The young man, obviously flustered at the sight of two very beautiful women, stuttered. "My first visit here, no idea!" Aedria looked to Irene, who sighed.

"Down the hall, two lefts and the door at the end."

"Thank you, Miss! Would you two like a glass, before I go?" The ladies glanced at each other, smiled, and accepted. Sherlock brushed past the waiter as he was leaving, heading toward Irene. "Do you need a ride back? Molly and I are leaving."

"Don't hurt yourself, Lover Boy." Irene winked at the disgusted expression on his face. "No, I'll call for someone." She shook her mobile at Sherlock with a smirk.

Sherlock strode out without another word, presumably to find Dr. Hooper. Aedria turned back to Irene. "Is he normally like that?"

"No, he's in love, which may or may not be a good thing." Irene cringed at the thought. "He's normally worse." She speedily typed a text and sent it. "Would you like a ride?"

_What the hell Irene! Why are you being nice?!_ "That would be appreciated," smiled Ms. Green. Walking out to the foyer, Frederic retrieved their wraps, and wished them a good night.


	6. Was It All A Dream?

Irene blinked in the thin ray of sunlight coming through the black curtains. _Aaah, headache. _She felt a solid warmth on top of her bare leg, and looked over to the other side of the bed. A mane of red hair, porcelain skin, a lovebite on her shoulder. Irene smiled at the memory of last night, and gently kissed the lovebite, causing Aedria to stir slightly.

Sliding out of bed, Irene slipped her dressing gown on, grabbed her mobile, and quietly went to make breakfast, stepping over Aedria's discarded dress lying on the floor. Unlocking her mobile as she went, Irene checked her email and messages. _56 new emails and 4 new text messages, good lord._ Ignoring her email notification, she opened the text messages. From Sherlock: _How do woman cope with emotions? _She replied with, _Ask John, I'm not your encyclopedia. _

_My apologies for deserting you last night, my mother was taken ill, and I needed to make sure she arrived home safely_. _-M. Holmes_

_Was that an apology, Mycroft? How touching. I have contacts, one of whom owns a transportation company. I wasn't worried. _

The other two she ignored, they were unimportant.

Irene flicked the knob on the gas. She faguely remembered Home Economics lessons, but more clearly, the instructions of her long time companion, Mrs. Petrachov. Victoria Petrachov was Irene's old governess, who she had kept on for a number of years as her housekeeper, before a foolish man decided to hurt Irene by brutally murdering Victoria. She was onto him within hours, and he was dead in another hour.

Blinking away the unpleasant memories, Irene began to pull out ingredients for pancakes. Cutting strawberries, she paused to flip the golden circles of batter. She heard soft steps coming down the stairs, and smiled. Aedria entered the kitchen, blinking a bit at the bright shade of red, wearing one of Irene's dressing gowns. Irene stopped cutting to kiss her, then turned to serve the pancakes. Dusting their plates with powdered sugar, she slid a plate across the counter to Aedria.

"Eat up, darling," Irene said, winking. Aedria shook her head at Irene's antics, and grabbed a fork. "So, you're a dominatrix?" Aedria tried out the word, her accent faltering.

"Yep," Irene answered, drawing out the 'p'.

"Do you like it?" Aedria was certainly more curious than the others Irene had told. Just then, Marina and The Diamonds' 'Power and Control' rung out through the kitchen. "One moment," Irene told Aedria, answering.

"What the hell, Mycroft?" Irene was now very pissed. She walked toward the library so Aedria wouldn't know who it was. _Why wouldn't the Holmes family leave her alone!_ "I beg pardon for the intrusion, Ms. Adler, but have you heard from Sherlock?" Mycroft sounded worried and annoyed.

"One text this morning, but other than that, nothing since last night." Irene smirked. "Lose your minion, have you? Did you call Molly? My money's on her." Hanging up abruptly, she moved toward the kitchen, back toward breakfast and the woman whose intelligence and wit was like a breath of fresh air.

Molly stirred, nuzzling closer to the warm skin beneath her check. _Wait, what? _Molly sleepily opened her eyes, and like a bolt of lightning, it hit her. The memory of Sherlock dancing with her, coming to her flat for a cup of awkward tea, the feeling of his warm lips on her, tasting like tea. _Fuck, I did it with Sherlock bloody Holmes! _Realizing too late she had said that out loud, she clamped her hand over her mouth in shock. Sherlock stirred, a curly lock falling on his forehead.

She gently brushed the hair from his face, and kissed him gently. Sliding out of her sheets, she grabbed Sherlock's shirt from the night before and her knickers, slipping both on quickly. Moving toward her small, pale yellow kitchen, Molly ran her fingers through her hair. "What the hell, Molly!" she muttered to herself.

She started the coffee machine and got out her favorite mug. Hearing shuffling, she quickly turned around, only to hear it go into the bathroom. Relaxing, she poured her coffee, and stirred in cream. Plopping down on the couch, she blushed crimson to see Sherlock come out of the bathroom only wearing the sweats her brother had left the last time he had stayed over.

"We had sex last night, and you still blush around me?" Sherlock was still waking up, and slightly grumpy, admittedly better than when he was at 221B. "Sherlock, we need to talk," Molly began bravely. "Ssh," he silenced her. "Need coffee." Flinging himself down on the opposite side of the couch and took a sip, closing his eyes. "Now, Molly. What did you want to talk about?"

In Sherlock's opinion, she couldn't blush any redder. "Do you regret it? Last night, I mean." Sherlock decided to be honest.

In one word, Molly was happier than she ever thought possible. "No." Sherlock surprised himself with his admitance. "Sherlock, did you mean that? You have 10 seconds to take it back if you didn't."

"Why would I take it back? Do you want me to?" He snuck a glance at her face. "No, you wonderful man." Molly felt like her face might split from the huge grin on it. She promptly did something she would have never done 24 hours earlier and sat on his lap. Kissing him, she felt the now familiar electric shock go through her as Sherlock, although startled by the gutsy Molly, moved his mouth against hers.

Meanwhile, Mycroft was attempting to contact his little brother. After the sixth attwmpt at calling Sherlock, he gave up. "Damn, Sherlock, answer your bloody phone!" Texting Anthea, he asked her to text Molly and ask if Sherlock was with her. Two minutes and a muffin later, his phone buzzed, showing two new text messages. showing

_Molly said Sherlock is with her. -A._

_Go away, I'm busy. SH_

Mycroft sighed. He hated not knowing what Sherlock was up to, especially involving a woman. Lord knew how men of the Holmes family dealt with woman, especially his father's messy affair that destroyed Mummy.


	7. Quick Author's Note

You beautiful readers still with me? School started and I didn't have time to write and when I did, writer's block hit, so sorry! :( Hope you liked the new installation! Review if you want the story to keep going, and if so, how many more chapters you guys want! Thanks for all the reviews, favs, follows, and views! Also, really, truly horribly sick here so I might not post this week. Love you guys, Joanna.


	8. Let's Talk

**This chapter was forced out, slowly and painfully, but you have a chapter! Yay! I might have another by Sunday, so review if you want a new chapter! Thank you all so much for your patience, and well wishes while I was ill. Love you all, Jo.**

Sherlock blinked. He felt a rough texture against his cheek, and quickly ran a quite through physical examination without moving. _Nothing broken, not even a bruise. Where am I? _The fabric against his skin was his coat, he realized.

"Hello, Sherlock." The smug tone could only belong to one person. Opening his eyes, Sherlock sat up tiredly, and rolled his eyes at how dramatic Mycroft was being. "Finally lose the pesky virginity, did we?"

"No, _we _did not lose 'the pesky virginity'. And it's none of your damn business if I did." Taking in his surrounding, Sherlock quickly deduced he was in one of the family's deserted estates. "Why are we here, Mycroft?" Sighing, he realized why. "No. Mycroft, we are not discussing this. It is not up for discussion."

"Have you told Daddy of your relationship with Ms. Hooper?" Mycroft's eyes widened. "You haven't even told Mummy, have you?"

Sherlock stood up. "No, I didn't have to. She guessed, and I don't give a damn what "Daddy" thinks," he stated blatantly with a cold sneer. was

"Sherl-" Sherlock cut Mycroft off. "No, Mycroft. You will stay out of any and all relations I choose to have with Dr. Hooper."

"You are a stubborn arse, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "Fine, go."

Sherlock strode out of the dark house, in a fine mood. Meanwhile, Irene was caught up.

Usher's Scream rang out in the deserted limousine. "Aedria?" She answered her ringing mobile. "Hi, Irene!" The feisty redhead seemed out of breath, and Irene furrowed her carefully managed eyebrows at the heavy breathing coming from the device. "Is that your car pulling out of 13 Magnolia Avenue?"

"Yes, hop in." Irene had correctly assumed Aedria was in trouble, and speedily opened the door while a mane of red curls slid in and slammed the door quickly. She winced at the loud shots coming toward the moving vehicle. Pressing the intercom between driver and passengers, she ordered the driver to 'step on it and be quick.'

Irene assesed Aedria and whistled at the black cat suit and thigh high boots she dressed in. "Practicing for Catwoman?" Irene couldn't resist the jab. The woman sitting opposite rolled her eyes. "No, darling," she smirked in her original American accent. "Do you see Christian Bale here?"

Irene smiled. "Good one," she said, leaning over for a kiss. "So, care to explain why someone was shooting at you, and the outfit?"

Aedria sighed and crossed her legs. "Okay. Well, you know how the night of the ball, Sherlock asked how work was?" Irene nodded, already beginning to understand. "I'm a bodyguard for a government official. And I just escaped from one of his enemies. No names, or I really will be killed."

"Right. So, lunch?" Irene waved for her driver to pull over. "Oh, and you might want to change out of that," Irene handed her a parcel from under the seat. Aedria, opening it, pulled out a rich maroon dress, and white strappy heels. "Emergency outfit? Smart, considering your work." Irene slid toward the window so Aedria could begin to change.

Pulling the zipper at the top of her collar, she pulled the fabric away from her skin and slid into the dress, removing her boots as well. Placing the heels on the floor, she stepped into them, and Irene handed Aedria the clutch laying beside her.

"You'll find what you need in here." Aedria raised a skeptical eyebrow, and opened the clasp. She reached in and pulled out pins, and began to twist her red curls up. "Are you prepared for everything?" Irene was examining the cat suit. "Of course, it's saved my life many times."

"Hairpins have saved you?" Irene looked at the small piece of metal, and smiled grimly. "Yes," the woman stated simply. Aedria finished and pulled out a brush and Irene's compact, refreshing her makeup. "Where are we?" She asked, curious. "Waverly's Cafe." Irene stepped out, thanking the driver as he held the door for the two women. "I know what the chef likes." Aedria nodded, understanding in her green eyes.

"Come along, darling," Irene swept through the door, taking what was obviously her seat at a small table close to the back of the small parlor. Aedria slid onto the bench facing Irene, and admired the dainty place settings. "So, why were you on Magnolia Avenue?"

"Work." Irene didn't expand on the subject, knowing if Jim found out about Aedria, even worse things could happen. Aedria raised her precisely arched eyebrow at Irene, knowing she wasn't telling all. "If I tell you, I will find you with a knife stuck in your back within 12 hours." Irene quickly whispered. Aedria nodded and opened her menu.

"How good is the halibut?" She decided small talk might be better for both of them.

Irene smiled. "Surprisingly good with the mango lime salsa." The two ordered, then sat in silence, both shooting supposedly covert glances at the mobiles hidden in their respective laps.

"Irene? Can I ask you something?" Irene looked up and smirked. "You just did, but sure."

Aedria rolled her eyes at Irene's sass and began. "How do you do what you do? You are a feared, respected woman who dominates people for a living, for gods sake." Aedria paused, waiting for Irene's response.

"I learned at a young age that if you didn't dominate first, people would dominate you, and that was never an option for me." Aedria saw a flash of pain as a memory hit Irene and she shuddered almost imperceptibly. "And, being in control makes me the one with the power, and a woman with power is feared and respected."

Aedria nodded. "So, when you hold the power, it makes you feel safe." Irene lifted her head, surprised at the depth Aedria could see into her. Taking a sip of wine before answering, Irene nodded once, "Yes." The waiter slid their plates onto the table and they began to eat.

Molly Hooper heard the footsteps first. Then the morgue doors slammed open, Sherlock Holmes striding in.

"The nerve of him," he muttered under his breath, passing the nervous woman standing by her slab. Throwing his coat over the chair, he sat at his microscope, and kept muttering. Molly came over to him cautiously and touched his shoulders, beginning to rub the tense muscles her fingers encountered. He stiffened at her soft touch, then relaxed slowly. "Who was it, Sherlock?" Molly's soft voice pierced through the mood Sherlock was in.

"Mycroft," Sherlock snarled, making Molly jump. She sat next to him silently. "Do you want to tell me?"

"No," he snapped at her. "Don't even try that, Sherlock. I won't take it." Molly stood up, and went back to her cadaver and earbuds. Minutes passed, and Sherlock found himself missing the warmth and softness of a certain pathologist.

Suddenly, Molly was wrapped up in the long arms of the detective. "Sorry," he muttered, sounding like a five year old caught playing in the mud. She laced her fingers into his curls, turning around slowly. "Sherlock, you know how I feel about you. But, I won't take your abuse. Go home and shoot the wall, but don't take it out on me." She reached up and kissed him softly. "Now, go finish your experiment, while I finish Mr. Hammers, then we can leave."


	9. Him and I

**I'm seriously not trying to sound like a selfish bitch, but I feel like I'm putting my life blood into this story, and I'm not receiving much in return. I have had 7,623 views on my story, and 13 reviews. Thank you to all who reviewed, but still. Do you kinda understand where I'm coming from? I'm not trying to force reviews out, but I love hearing feedback and appreciation for what I've worked hard on. I apologize if this seems harsh. I never want to seem mean or miserly. I truly appreciate all the views and reviews. Please review? Thank you all. As a reward for my negligence, a full chapter on Molly and Sherlock! :) Also, Disclaimer - I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters, unfortunately. They are property of BBC. **

Molly wearily climbed her stairs, her feet and stomach aching. Of course Mother Nature had to visit in the busiest week at work. Pulling out her keys, wincing at the shard of pain shooting through her abdomen, she unlocked the door. Stepping inside her small, cheerful flat, she was greeted by Toby winding around her legs. "Hello, dear. How was your day," she cooed at the gray tabby.

"Fine, thank you," a deep baritone rumbled from the living room. Molly jumped and dropped her bag in fright. "Sherlock! Bloody hell. What did I tell you about picking my locks?"

He came around the corner, smirking. "I locked it behind me." His innocent tone wasn't fooling the petite woman glaring at him. She stepped forward and hit him across the chest. "Not funny, Sherlock." She brushed past him to collapse on her cream colored sofa. He followed like a lost puppy, lifting her legs up to place them on his lap and began to rub gently, gauging her body's reaction. Molly shifted slightly to place her calves more in his lap. "God, Sherlock. Work was awful."

He nodded. "I know. You are in your menses, Mike was having you fill out paperwork, and you spilled a full mug of coffee on your favorite sweater." Molly covered her face with her hands, and rubbed her eyes. "I think I need a bath."

She stumbled tiredly toward the bathroom, shedding her work clothes as she went. Sherlock heard the tap running a few minutes later, and went to put the kettle on.

Molly heard the bathroom door open with a creak and she opened her eyes reluctantly. Sherlock softly stepped over her bra and set a cup of tea and several aspirin by her elbow. Kissing her forehead, he made his way out of the bathroom to give her privacy. Molly smiled at his retreating back, sinking back into her sea of bubbles. A half hour later, a very pruney Molly exited the bathroom, wearing her old green dressing gown. Padding into the living room, she almost tripped over Sherlock's lanky legs stretched out, the only thing keeping her from falling was his quick hand, bracing her back.

"Mind palace, again?" Molly kissed his nose. Sherlock wrinkled it in response. "Of course. Running variables for an experiment."

Molly flicked on her kitchen light, illuminating the mess of dishes left from last night when she had been too tired to do them. Rolling up her sleeves, she went to work, cringing at the caked rice stuck in the pot. She had attempted a stirfry, which ended in her sticking the flaming pan under her faucet. _Sometimes I wonder why I even try, _she thought, refering to more than the pan in front of her.

"Because you care," came the response from Sherlock, leaning against the island. Molly started, realizing she had been thinking out loud. "You cared for a druggie sociopath with an hyperactive mind."

Molly blushed, wishing he hadn't brought that up. "Sherlock, I was just helping a brilliant man find his way." He walked over and wrapped his long arms around her middle. Grasping her chin between his slender fingers, he tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Molly, I won't let you degrade yourself. You helped me when no one else would, and got me clean. I've never thanked you for what you did and do for me. So this is me saying thank you."

He crushed his warm mouth to hers passionately, and turned her body fully around in his arms. Molly wrapped her arms around his neck, rising onto her tiptoes. Sherlock tasted salt and pulled back slightly.

"Molly? Are you okay?" Sherlock was worried.

She smiled, wiping away the tears forming. "Deduce me, detective man." A tentative grin crept back to his face before he pulled back, and grabbed the sticky rice pan from the sink. Striding to her kitchen table, he picked up a vial and poured three drops into the pan.

"Sherlock, what is that?" Molly couldn't help the note of anxiety in her shaky voice.

"Acid," he aswered. Tilting the pan toward her, she gasped. The rice was ash.

Giggling, Molly took the pan back, and doused it in soapy suds. "Come here, you goose." She pulled him toward the couch, resuming their former position. Sherlock stroked her smooth legs gently, and she grabbed her book as he went into the depths of his mind palace. Looking up a good hour later, he noticed Molly was asleep, her worn Jane Austen across her chest.

He frowned at the look of discomfort on her face, and her wrinkled eybrows. Sherlock slid an arm under her arms and back, picking Molly up with ease. As he placed her gently down upon the bed, Sherlock pulled off his shirt, and slid her arms into the sleeves, swiftly buttoning it. He removed her damp bathrobe, and slid in next to her, pulling the blankets around them.

Sherlock wrapped his warm fingers around her lower abdomen, hearing a small sigh of relief, seemingly in Molly's sleepy state. Pulling him closer, Molly kissed his cheek and snuggled deeper into his embrace. The couple drifted off to sleep together, meeting each other in their dreams.


End file.
